As he ground against her she lost control, bit his lip, tasting his blood in her mouth, but she didn’t care. It was just more of him that became a part of her. She wrapped her leg around him, digging her heel in his buttocks to drive him harder. And when her climax washed over her, she didn’t bother to hold back the tears that told him how much she’d miss him, how much she loved him. He buried his face in her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he groaned and shuddered against her.
He held her tight and stroked her back, her shoulders, her hip. And still, neither of them spoke.
They’d both just said all there was to say.
They loved each other.
But it was over.
For some reason Isabelle thought the ceremony would take place in the house, but that’s not how it was going to happen. She stood outside along with Dalton and the other hunters, as well as Georgie and several of her family and coworkers. The women wore long cotton dresses, the men knee-cropped pants and vests, no shirts. Even children came along. Georgie had told her that young children were groomed in the way of voodoo at an early age, many to take over as
They’d all taken a walk deep into the woods, staying parallel to the bayou. The night was sultry, the moon full, the sounds of birds and God only knew what other kinds of creatures keeping them company as they trekked single-file along a narrow pathway carved into the dense woods. Alone with her thoughts, Isabelle had stayed in step, Derek in front of her, Dalton behind her, all of the hunters fully armed in case the Sons of Darkness decided to make an impromptu appearance while all of this went down tonight.
Great. Another thing to worry about, though Dalton assured her she’d done a fine job so far of keeping their location from the Sons of Darkness. But who knew what would happen during the ceremony? Maybe she’d weaken when her demon went to war with Dalton’s angel. She still couldn’t wrap her mind about how this was going to take place, and didn’t even want to try.
She was tired-bone weary and exhausted. Whether it was from fighting off the Sons of Darkness’ constant attempts to reach her, the lack of sleep, or the utter emptiness she felt inside knowing she was going to lose Dalton tonight, she didn’t know. She’d rather be asleep curled up in Dalton’s arms than go through this. But she’d agreed, it was going to happen, and moaning about it wasn’t going to do any good.
The group finally arrived at what appeared to be a man-made clearing carved out of the dense foliage, a huge circle surrounded by low-hanging cypress trees that seemed to bow down to them in reverence. Water moved behind them on one side, and there was nothing but woods the rest of the way.
Off to one side stood an altar made of wood, with several shelves. On the shelves were varied items-strange stuff. Candles were already lit, their flames wavering in the slight balmy breeze. There were also framed pictures of what looked to be Georgie’s ancestors, beaded necklaces, amulets, cloth voodoo dolls, trinkets of every sort, bottles of rum, some full, some half full. There was even money scattered along the shelves. A crazy assortment, like what you’d find at a flea market, yet absolutely fascinating. In front of the altar was a circle of dirt, none of the lush green grass that surrounded the rest of the area. Behind the circle lay a wooden pole and a stone bench stained with some kind of dark, rusty-looking material. Isabelle crinkled her nose and hoped that wasn’t where some kind of bizarre blood sacrifices had occurred.
Georgie had dressed the part tonight, in a white flowing cotton dress, sleeveless but covering the rest of her body down to her ankles, one of which bore a braided anklet. She was barefoot and wore a multicolored turban on her head. She’d provided Isabelle with a similar type of dress, only Isabelle’s was all colorful. She’d told Isabelle not to wear shoes, either.
“Georgie, what is all this stuff?” Isabelle asked.
“It is the altar where we pay homage to the gods. We make our offerings here. The altar is the passageway between this world and the next. The place where the immortal spirits make their home.”
Dalton laid his sword on the stone bench and Isabelle swallowed, her throat scratchy and dry. She’d have given anything for a glass of water right now.
Georgie faced the crowd gathered around her. “We will make an offering to Loa, the spirits that gather here. Isabelle will chant with me, protected within the divine circle. She will shed the blood of sacrifice, and be inhabited by those who shelter her from harm.”
Isabelle’s gaze snapped to Dalton, who raised his hand as if to tell her everything would be all right.
“None of you may interfere. To do so will anger the gods. Please be aware that we practice white magic here. There will be no evil, only purity. Our goal is to cleanse Isabelle, to rid her of the demons possessing her. No harm will come to her as long as you do not disrupt the ceremony.”
Isabelle inhaled and blew it out, forcing the shaking fear back. She had to trust in Dalton. They were in it- deep in it, now. She had no choice.
Returning her attention to Georgie, she nodded, and Georgie bent down on the ground and opened a container with some type of yellow granules.
“This is cornmeal,” she said. “We use it to create the Veve, the symbol for the spirits we call. It is our homage to them. These spirits will embody us and guide us on our journey to the other side.”
Isabelle was mesmerized as Georgie painstakingly created an amazing geometric design in the dirt from simple cornmeal, a series of triangles, spheres, and dots with connecting lines that formed the shape of some unidentifiable creature. It resembled the kind of drawing a child might make, only much more intricate.
“Don’t leave my side for any reason. Within this area you will be protected. Outside it I cannot help you. Do as I say, everything I say, even if it sounds strange to you.”
Isabelle nodded. Georgie turned to the others. “Ready?”
No one said anything, so Georgie pivoted, bent her head, and began to chant in French. Fortunately, Isabelle understood and could follow, though little of it made sense. Georgie made a prayer to the gods, both dark and light, calling them forth, offering what stood on the altar as gifts, and asking for their blessings and protections. She called out the names Petro and Rada, darkness and benevolence, and the Ghede, the powers of the dead.
Georgie kneeled, eyes closed, moving her hand over the Veve and continuing to chant.
When Georgie mentioned Dalton’s name along with Isabelle’s, then said the
But then Georgie explained that the
Was Georgie talking about Dalton? Or her? Isabelle so wanted to ask, but Georgie chanted nonstop, her hands moving, her body undulating. And behind her, people pounded drums in a slow, soft rhythm, other people chanted, even sang in soft, melodic tones to music unfamiliar to her. It was lovely, really. Was it part of the ceremony? Did it have some kind of profound effect on what would happen?
Because so far she felt nothing. Though she was relaxed, and enjoying the symbolism of the ceremony, nothing was happening to her.
There was, however, something apparently happening with Georgie. Her body moved like it was made of rubber, and her eyes rolled back in her head. She began to dance, her feet digging up a cloud of dust around her. She lifted her hands in the air, her hips moving in a seductive rhythm. She picked up a black top hat from the makeshift altar, lit two cigarettes, smoked them simultaneously, and grabbed an open bottle of rum, taking several deep swigs. She picked up another bottle, moved toward Isabelle, a wicked smile on her face.
“Drink.”
It looked like rum in there. But was it?
Georgie thrust the bottle at her again. “Drink!”
Isabelle tipped the bottle and took a sip. It burned, the alcohol strong.
“Drink more.”
She did, taking several swallows of the hot liquid, then handed the bottle back to Georgie.
“You are the demon,” Georgie said, her voice lower.
Georgie didn’t seem to be herself any longer, but appeared to be channeling someone else.
Isabelle nodded. “Who are you?”
